Science and Faith
by drjohnhwatson
Summary: A series of short or relatively short one shots about Sherlock and John based on the whole of the Scripts new album, Science and Faith. I think the whole album can relate to their friendship, so im taking on the challenge! Not slash.
1. You Won't Feel A Thing

Hello! I've been listening to the Script alot lately and I wanted to do a fic based on a song from their newest album, which i really, really love, but then i decided that the whole album fits so well with Sherlock and John, so I decided to do all of it! I dont know how it'll turn out, but i hope well!  
I dont own Sherlock and John, but I love them very very much.  
All credit goes to Sir Arthur, and Moffat and Gatiss for the BBC Series.

* * *

One: You Won't Feel A Thing.

There is an unspoken understanding between John and Sherlock that whatever the other does, whatever trouble they get in or whatever life throws at them, the other will always be there for them. They will be there to pick up the pieces, mend broken bones or smooth bandages over cuts. They will be there to get help, to provide help, to offer support and an unquestioning shoulder to lean on. They will be there to breathe life back into the other should things get bad and they will be there to carry each other from the debris of a collapsing world.  
Most of all though, there is the understanding that they will be there to carry whatever burdens the other has. They will willingly trade scars, give life, soothe cuts and bruises and take on pain. They will stand in the way of threats to each other's safety, because they look for safety in each other.

John knows all about Sherlock's past. He knows that he has fallen, physically and metaphorically, more times than he can count, or would want to count, but he also knows that he will always be there to help pick him up if it happens again. Sherlock has been stabbed in the back, laughed at, disgraced, lied to and beaten. He's been kicked down and left for dead, but he got up and moved forward alone. Well, John thinks, he doesn't have to be alone anymore. John carries it all for him, protecting him against all the emotional scars, and most of the physical ones too. He wakes up in the mornings and sees Sherlock's tired face and he tells himself that he will always carry them, because Sherlock doesn't deserve them. His face is enough to settle the deal, and John doesn't expect anything in return.

He gets it though. Even if it's not spoken about.

Sherlock carries everything that John has ever seen or done or had to do as an army Doctor. All the lives saved, the lives lost, all the horrific injuries he's seen and the ones he's sustained. Sherlock carries them, and he doesn't mind, because anything is better than John living with this, he thinks. He knows that people think him incapable of empathising with people or registering emotions, but with John it's different. He feels like he needs to, has to, not because John lives with him, or because he does it for Sherlock, but because he likes John. He loves John actually, and he knows that what they are doing is normal for people who love each other. He likes to think John loves him too. It's confusing, but Sherlock feels like he must, not just for John, but for himself. It makes him feel better to know that John feels better. All he really knows is that he loves John (which is odd in itself, because he's never really loved anyone in his life) and he will do anything to help him.

He watches the small man late at night sometimes, when they are both still in the living room and John has fallen asleep in his armchair. He sees the lines and wrinkles on the man's weary face and thinks that it is all worth it if John can sleep soundly at night, and in the mornings when he wakes and Sherlock sees his face, he knows that he will do it all again for him. Every time.  
The bond between them never slips, never wavers. Not even for a second, because for all the sleepless nights, crazy experiments, moaning and idiocy in the relationship, each of them know they will never find another with the same regard for them, anywhere.  
Sherlock and John also know that if they didn't have each other, who would pull them from the wreckage of themselves?  
Sherlock looks at John and smiles, and John offers one back and mentally both of them promise to the other that they will never have to feel a thing.

* * *

_-'Cause I will take it on the chin, for you, so lay your cuts and bruises over my skin._  
_I promise you won't feel a thing, oh, cause everything the world could throw,i'll stand in front and take the blow, for you.  
And If I fall here, at least you know my dear that I would die for you, promise you won't ever feel a thing."_

**-The Script-You Won't Feel A Thing.**


	2. For The First Time

'Lo. This is the second one shot, which is set on the second track on the album For The First Time. It's a personal favourite of mine and actually prompted me to buy the album, however I found it quite hard to think of an idea based around it and how Sherlock could relate, so as a result I dont think this is my best one shot at all. In fact i think its quite weak, but its the best Ive got so sorry if ive let you all down. Still, here you go.

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**Two: For the First Time.**

Every time John follows Sherlock on a case and they end up imprisoned or half strangled or strapped to explosives, he thinks about the first time they met.  
He thinks about the first sentence Sherlock said to him and how he'd been so surprised he hadn't answered him for a second.  
Sherlock frequently surprises him now, whether its waking him up by looming over his bed in the early hours of the morning or leaving acid in mugs of tea which John has nearly drunk on more than one occasion, or even sometimes just by saying "Do you want me to pick up anything on the way home?" (Sherlock has never been awfully considerate). John likes that Sherlock surprises him though, life would be boring without it.

"Are you alright?  
A voice cuts through his thoughts and he turns his head awkwardly in the cramped space to look at the dark haired man a few feet away from him.  
"How did we get into this mess, Sherlock?"  
The man regarded him curiously.  
"They brought us in a van..."he attempted. "Are you okay, John? You didn't get knocked out did you? Does your head hurt anywhere?" the man fired off quickly, face creased in concern.  
"Yes you bloomin' moron you're the one giving me a headache!" John half laughed. "Calm down, I'm fine. I was just wondering, I mean, we're quite a pair aren't we?"  
He is surprised (see) when the younger man smiles.  
"We are indeed, John. What's brought this on?"  
"Oh you know, I like to ponder life when bound in chains."  
Sherlock chuckled quietly. "You're a character, Doctor Watson. The truth is, I'm very glad I met you."  
The blonde haired man gaped at him. Sherlock had never said anything of the sort to him, and now here they were, chained with no escape and he was revealing things to him. It was a little worrying to be honest.  
"Really?"  
"Yes."  
"...Are _**you**_ feeling alright?"  
Sherlock laughed again and looked at him pointedly.  
"**I** am fine. I just wanted to let you know, I mean we do spend all of our time together, we live with each other and despite you being a complete idiot-"  
John shot him a dark look which Sherlock missed (conveniently) "- you are actually very helpful and I regard you as my closest friend, indeed the only friend I have ever had really."

John is shocked, can barely string a sentence together.  
"Um, thank you," he manages.  
"Don't mention it. It is customary to share things between friends, is it not?" he asks, head back against the wall now, eyes closed.  
"Er yes," John agrees. "Quite."  
They are quiet for about three seconds and then John feels like he should say something back.  
"I regard you as my closest friend too," he blurts out.  
Sherlock lifts his head and looks round at him, a small, smug smile on his face.  
"Of course you do."  
John rolls his eyes, there is the Sherlock Holmes he knows.  
"Come on then John, jerk your wrist six cm to the right and lets get out of here," the detective says cheerily.  
John just stares.  
Even after all these years, after John thinks he gets Sherlock finally, he still surprises him. Really, he thinks, as he breaks the bonds holding him (Sherlock is always right, aggravatingly) and moves to free the younger man, it feels like he is meeting Sherlock for the first time, **every time.**

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_"And we don't know how we got into this mess, it's a god's test,  
Someone help us 'cause we're doing our best,tryna' make it work but man these times are hard.  
__Even after all these years, we just now got the feeling that we're meeting for the first time.  
Oh, these times are hard, yeah they're making us crazy, don't give up on me baby."_

**The Script-For the First Time.**


	3. Nothing

Hello. Thank you for being patient, and for all your lovely reviews so far, I really appreciate it. I've had so much schoolwork and I've also had a bit of writers block for this one too, which wasnt good. I've finally managed this though. I dont know if its any good, but I shall leave you to be the judge of that. I hope you like it, anyway. I will try to update more regularly, but I will see how I handle my college work on top of this.  
I'm seeing Harry Potter today so I'm kind of flailing but yeah.  
All credit goes to Sir Arthur and Moffat and Gatiss.

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**Three: Nothing.**

John has never been one to quit. He was a good fighter, a great soldier, a fantastic Doctor and most of all, a brilliant man. He is determined and resourceful and everything that he hopes gives cause for him to be a man worth knowing. He hopes that Sherlock chose him for this reason.  
Sherlock thinks that John is the perfect amount of human for him. He balances him and keeps him grounded, whilst being encouraging and extremely forgiving.  
However, John and Sherlock were as normal as any two people could be. They had agreements and they had disagreements, and although it was usually the former, it could also be the latter, and today unfortunately, was one of those days. John had called him a 'sociopathic tosspot with all the social awareness of a three year old,' and Sherlock had grabbed his coat and scarf and stormed out without as much as a backward glance. At the time John had thought "Serves him right for burning my laptop!" but now that he thought about it, it had been brash and harsh and he had probably hurt what little feelings Sherlock had.  
"Damnit", he growled and followed out of the door that Sherlock had left through two hours previous.

John had been shouting Sherlock's name around London for the past 24 hours. Lestrade had been with him for 13, and was now getting tired of John's incessant dithering and worrying. Inspector Lestrade was nothing but a practical man, and he knew that John wasn't going to get anywhere by shouting. He also hadn't slept, which worried the experienced detective, because whatever John did, he always make sure he got at least a nap in somewhere.  
"John, please calm down," Greg urged him. "You're going to get hurt."  
John turned his tired eyes towards him and sighed. "I already am."  
Greg couldn't muster the strength to say anything that might help; he was far too shocked.  
"We have to find him, Greg. I said some things that I didn't mean and I regret them and I just need him to tell me he forgives me. Even if he doesn't want to come back to Baker Street, I just need him to know that I'm sorry."  
Lestrade nodded once and then ran a hand through his hair wearily.  
"Come on then, let's go," he said, resignedly and together they set off again.

"Sherlock I know you're there," John said into his mobile six hours later. "I know you, you're sitting with your fingers steepled like you always do and you're making me wait and its...its agonising Sherlock. Please just..." he sighed. "Fine. Don't answer. I'm just...I'm sorry Sherlock, okay? I'm sorry. I just wanted to say that." He paused. "Goodbye."  
He ended the call and sighed, leant his head back against the wall they were stood against. There was the sudden sound of running footsteps and John opened his eyes. One of Greg's men had rounded the corner and shouted into the night at them both.  
"We've got a pinpoint on Holmes! He's been seen in Baker Street!"  
Lestrade groaned. "Again? What does the idiot think he's doing? We're not a search party for Sherlock Holmes' latest experimen-Oi!" he yelled at John, who had already taken off, running across the courtyard.  
It was 15 minutes at a run to Baker Street he knew, from here. He pushed his body and legs as fast as they would carry him, desperate to reach the younger man, only hoping that the he hadn't been alerted that the police knew where he was. He rounded corners at breakneck speed, nearly knocking into a few late night drunken stragglers, but he didn't care. All he knew was that they'd seen Sherlock and he was going to find him. He repeated the phrase over and over in his head; "_Going to find him, going to find him, going to find him..._" like a mantra that somehow pushed him on and on, his heart pounding and muscles screaming.  
He flew into Baker Street, ran the length of it and then stopped.  
He wasn't here.  
He leant against the wall, panting, trying to get his breath back, and then cursed loudly over and over. He kicked at the bins next to him and slid round into an alley, sinking to the floor, his head in his hands.  
He didn't know how long he was there but the cold was beginning to bite into his bones when a shadow obscured the streetlamp that had previously washed over him warmly.  
He looked up blearily, focused his eyes and his mouth slowly dropped open.  
"S-Sherlock?"  
"Doctor Watson," the voice said, by way of greeting.  
He stumbled to his feet clumsily.  
"What-I've been looking everywhere for you!" he said incredulously, rubbing his weary eyes.  
"I know. I was out."  
Sherlock looked tired himself, black rims under his eyes and drooping eyelids. He held himself very upright though, and John thought he was guarding himself in case John should shout at him again. Poised to run, John suddenly thought.  
The Doctor's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I really, really am. I didn't mean all those things I said, they were rude and uncalled for, and I shouldn't have said them. I mean of course you're bored and I know you like to take things apar-"  
"No, John, I'm sorry."  
John stared. "You're...what?"  
"Sorry," Sherlock repeated. "I shouldn't have burnt your laptop. I should have gone out and bought one or...asked Mycroft," he said with a wrinkle of his nose and a hint of disgust in his voice.  
"Oh, um-,"  
"I, um...got you something," he said, and from under his arm he brought out a slim, compact laptop, the latest model. He held it out to John and quirked his mouth upwards in more of a grimace than a smile. He fixed John with a questioning gaze and John registered that he might think that John would refuse or hit him with it.  
He held out his own hands and took it, turning it over and examining it carefully.  
He looked up at Sherlock.  
"Thank you," he smiled gratefully.  
Sherlock looked relieved and even smiled back, a real genuine one, John noted. He nodded curtly.  
"Well, um," he coughed "Right yes, well, I'm glad you like it," he said quickly and John knew that he was embarrassed and stood upright and nodded quickly back.  
"Yes, quite. Thank you."  
There was a pause.  
"Hungry?"  
"Starving." John replied, a slight smile gracing his features.  
Sherlock grinned back.


End file.
